


Of Automail and Alchemy

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed has alchemy, Winry has automail. That’s how it’s always been, and she has a feeling that’s how it’s always going to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Automail and Alchemy

Winry can still remember the first time she picked up automail, the day she learned of her parents’ death. She’d been sitting at the kitchen table, face sticky with dried tears, staring at a section of the off-white plaster wall for hours. Ed and Al had come and gone, and Granny clattered around from room to room, doing who knew what. Winry wondered if she should be angry that her grandmother didn’t seem nearly as grief-stricken as Winry was, but found herself feeling too hollow inside to care. All she had the energy to do was sit and stare at the wall.  
  
A light thud followed by a series of metallic clinks snapped her from her stupor. She looked down to see a small series of metal pieces connected together by several joints and hinges lying on the table in front of her. Granny, her package delivered, turned and walked away.  
  
Winry had tried to return to her blank assessment of the wall, but something about the little machine on the table wouldn’t let her. It drew her gaze like a flower drew a bumblebee, no matter hard she tried to ignore it. Finally, she reached out her hand and poked at it listlessly. The hinges swung back under her touch, all save for the smallest one. That joint squeaked and strained, but wouldn’t move any farther. Winry frowned and explored that section with her fingers, carefully pivoting the hinge back and forth. The metal there was warped, and wouldn’t extend as far as it was designed to. But even though Winry saw the problem, she didn’t have any way to fix it.  
  
Another thud—this one heavier and lower—had her looking up. A pair of red-handled pliers appeared on the table next to the metal piece just as gray skirts vanished through the kitchen doorway. Winry wasn’t sure what Granny was playing at, but now that she had the pliers, she really kind of wanted to see the little gadget fixed.  
  
She picked up the tool and clamped it firmly down on the problematic section before gently pushing and pulling and bending the metal into the shape it was supposed to be. After several long minutes of working (her young fingers had not been nearly as coordinated as they’d needed to be), she sat back and set the pliers down. The metal swung happily back and forth, uttering not a single squeal of protest.  
  
“Well done,” Granny said, startling Winry and making her jump. “Now maybe you can figure out what’s wrong with this.” She held up another metal part, this one a little bigger and a little more complex than the last.  
  
For a few seconds, Winry considered refusing and returning to the vegetative state she’d spent the entire afternoon in, but an itchy curiosity had wiggled its way under her skin and wouldn’t allow it. She wanted to know what was wrong with the piece in Granny’s hand, and she wanted to know how it was supposed to work. The feeling was novel to her; she’d never been interested in her grandmother’s work before. Whatever it was that had her stretching out her hand to take the piece, it stayed with her long after the grief of her parents’ death had receded to a dull ache to be tenderly boxed up and kept in the deepest layer of her heart.  
  
Years later, Winry had asked why she’d given her the automail. Her grandmother had smiled knowingly and said, “Because you’re a Rockbell, girl. Whenever the world starts falling apart around us, we fix. It’s in our nature. For me, it’s automail. For your parents, it was people. And for you…,” she said, glancing at the automail sitting scattered on Winry’s desk, “Well, it looks like you’re cut from the same cloth I am.”  
  
And as Winry continued fiddling with the automail forearm in front of her, she realized that her grandmother was right. Fixing things calmed her in a way little else could. It was the simplicity of it, she’d decided. Automail either worked or it didn’t, and there were specific reasons for the latter.  
  
Machines were predictable. People weren’t.  
  
That didn’t make her a cynic, she’d thought. Just someone who appreciated the simple beauty of a machine working the way it was designed to.  
  
So is it any wonder, then, that she immerses herself in automail whenever things become just too much? She doesn’t think so.  
  
But sometimes she wishes that she didn’t rely so much on automail to calm her down. Take right now, for example. She’s sitting on a bench in the small Resembool train station, waiting for the 3:15 to Central that’ll connect to a second one heading to West City. From there it’s to the customs office, then on to…well, she isn’t sure. Ed was pretty vague on what came after that. West is all she knows. He’s going west to research alchemy, and he’ll be gone in minutes.  
  
This is the last time she’ll be seeing him for who knows how long, and all she can do is yammer on about automail maintenance like a fool. No wonder he’s not paying attention.  
(Oh, all right, she is a little serious about some of this. Ed’s notorious for not paying his automail a scrap of attention, so her nagging is at least partly for his benefit).  
  
She pauses in her lecture and takes a moment to watch him. He’s slouched in his seat, gaze staring vacantly ahead. Even bent like this, he’s about the same height as she is, something she knows he’s secretly proud of. The issue of his height doesn’t set him off anymore, and not just because he’s tall enough now to avoid it. He’s still got a short temper, sure, but he’s also grown into a sense of maturity. He’ll joke and laugh with his brother, but there’s also a seriousness in his eyes that definitely wasn’t there a few years ago. There’s still the stubborn spark in his eyes, still the determined set of his jaw, still a kindness in his broad shoulders. Same, but different. Like automail that’s been redesigned to fit its growing owner.  
  
She kicks herself for managing to bring automail back into this again, so to distract herself, she asks, “Are you even listening?”, even though she knows he’s not.  
  
“Yeah,” he says dully, just like every other answer he’s given her.  
  
She heaves a sigh and looks away. The sky’s a perfect robin’s egg blue, and the birds chirp with undisguised delight, but Winry can’t help but feel disgruntled that the weather chose today to be so glorious. This is a day for picnics under willow trees, not a day to send her very best friend off to another country for who knows how long.  
  
She knows why he has to go. A large part of her is actually glad for it. But she can’t help but feel just a little sad and worried at his departure. Especially when things between them are still so undefined.  
  
A hollow train whistle cuts through her thoughts, prompting her to stand up and squint at the oncoming locomotive. “There’s your train,” she says a little unnecessarily.  
  
The train’s wheels screech and squeal as the brakes grind them to a halt. Steam pours from pipes along the edge, and Winry can’t help but admire the design (it may not be automail, but she can still appreciate a well-put-together machine).  
  
She turns to him, a joking smile on her face. “Knowing you, you’re probably gonna break it within a month and have to come home for maintenance,” she says, gesturing to his leg. A small part of her actually kind of hopes this turns out to be the case.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, turning away as he rolls his eyes. “You’re probably right.”  
She smiles at his back. She wants to say good-bye, but Ed had made it clear he didn’t want one at the station. “I’m coming back,” he’d promised, “And a sappy good-bye like that just makes me feel like I’m not. Besides, I’ll write letters and stuff.”  
  
Well, Winry certainly doubts that last part, but she supposes it’s the thought that counts. She pulls herself to the present and calls after him as he walks towards the train. “Well, whenever that does happen, just call me to make an appointment,” she says, half serious, half joking.  
  
“Sure,” he says, just like all the things he’d said during her lecture.  
  
He puts one foot in the train, but stops before he can step all the way inside. He doesn’t turn around, just stands there, saying nothing. Winry frowns and leans forward a little, trying to see what’s the matter.  
  
“An appointment?” he says suddenly, his voice shaking. He turns around with a jerk and watches Winry with the strangest look on his face.  
  
Okay, Winry had had really been joking with that last remark. Either Ed was taking it way too seriously, or there was something else the matter. “What’s wrong?” she asks, mouth curving up in a small, reassuring smile.  
  
“Listen, Winry” he says, looking uncharacteristically nervous. But he doesn’t say anything else, just keeps looking at her with that pained anxiety.  
  
“Well, what?” she asks, getting a little impatient. “Just come out and say it.”  
  
His lips twitch, and there’s a strange gurgling sound in his throat, as though his mouth is too full of words and he doesn’t know which ones to let out. And as he stands there, fumbling over these words, his cheeks begin to flush a brilliant magenta. He’s embarrassed and he’s blushing, and that tells Winry that whatever he wants to say might have been weighing on his mind for quite some time.  
  
Finally, he sucks in a deep breath and flings out a finger to point at her, saying, “Equivalent exchange!”  
  
Winry leans back, one eyebrow raised in confusion, a breathy “huh?” escaping her lips. This doesn’t sound like something important enough to warrant stammering and blushing.  
  
“I’ll give half of my life to you, if you give half of yours to me!” The sentence leaves him in one great rush, forceful and a little loud. He swallows thickly, face still painted red, and he watches her.  
  
It takes just seconds for Winry to work through what exactly he’s said to her, and once she does, it takes all that’s within her not to leap into the air with a shout. Sure, it might not have been pretty, or eloquent, but it’s undoubtedly Ed’s style. He may no longer be an alchemist, but he definitely still thinks like one.  
  
Winry, however, is not an alchemist, so she doesn’t see much sense in the deal he’s proposed (Oh, God, he really has just _proposed_ , hasn’t he?). Why give half of yourself when you can give all? She doesn’t want Ed to only have half of her, she wants to give him every bit until she’s tangled up in him. Gah, this equivalent exchange business…  
  
She groans aloud and smacks her forehead at this, that she has to be in love with the boy who would use alchemical logic like this. “Come on. Do you have to treat everything like alchemy? The whole equivalent exchange thing is just nonsense!”  
  
“What’d you say?!” he cries, looking panicked.  
  
She heaves an irritated sigh. “It’s nonsense! How about I just give you my whole life?”  
  
Ed’s eyes widen and his blush starts to fade as he stares at her in complete shock.  
  
Dammit, that last bit had sounded better in her head. What if he takes it the wrong way? What if he doesn’t want all her life? She hadn’t meant to sound desperate and clingy, like she’d willingly give up everything for him (because she won’t, let’s just get _that_ straight). Maybe…maybe her whole life is too much.  
  
It’s Winry’s turn to blush now as she hastily rethinks her last sentence. She backs up, waving her arms as if she can clear the air of her not-very-well-thought-out words. “Uh, maybe not all of it. Ninety? Maybe eighty percent?” She’s babbling now, hardly aware of what’s she saying, only that she sounds like an idiot and _this is not a good reaction to have right now_. But her traitorous mouth keeps going, spouting out numbers as her face grows hotter and hotter under her fierce blush.  
  
A snort interrupts her, and she looks up from her fingers to see Ed clutching his side and giggling uncontrollably.  
  
“You what?” she cries, fists hanging by her sides, lashing out defensively.  
  
He’s guffawing now, head tossed back and eyes crinkled in amusement.  
  
“Shut up!” she yells, fighting back the urge to punch him. It’s not fair, him turning the tables so now she’s the one embarrassed.  
  
“I’m sorry—really,” he chokes out between bouts of laughter. He bends over, trying to catch his breath but failing as he breaks out into round after round of giggles.  
  
“Edward!” she warns, leaning forward with irritation.  
  
He looks up, eyes still squinted in amusement. “You are so incredible!” he tells her with a wide smile on his face.  
  
She’s so unused to compliments like this from him that she doesn’t say anything, face still stuck in a pink scowl.  
  
“You knocked equivalent exchange flat on its butt in just a few words,” he says, and his face is glowing with such admiration that she can feel herself start to soften, bit by bit.  
  
“But—and what’s that mean?” she asks, still a little uncertain, still hating being laughed at. She knows that equivalent exchange is something that he’s built his life on, so what does it mean that she’s managed to overturn it? Another thing occurs to her, prompting her to ask, “Are you making fun of me?” She hates how her voice shakes when she says it, but she has to ask, has to make sure that this isn’t all some elaborate trick he’s playing on her.  
  
“Not at all,” he says, straightening up until he’s looking down at her, smiling not with laughter but affection. He raises a hand, lightly skimming her cheek (her blush has all but disappeared now) before smoothing her hair back along her head. Her mouth opens slightly and she stares at him, eyes wide as she waits with bated breath, She doesn’t know what he’s going to do next, because this has taken such an unexpected turn, but she knows what she wants him to do, what she hopes…  
  
He cups the back of her head and pulls her in for a kiss. Her little gasp of surprise is caught by his mouth, and she melts into him almost instantly as her eyes flutter close. This embrace is miles away from the handful of tender kisses they’d shared in the few stolen moments they’d found in the past months. Those had been full of caution, full of uncertainty and questions. The future had been so fuzzy, neither of them knowing what was coming next.  
  
Perhaps that’s the same now, but there is a confidence in this kiss that was missing before. Winry still doesn’t know what the future has in store, but there is one thing she’s certain of: whatever it holds, Ed will stay right by her side for it, and she’ll stand by his. This kiss is strong and loving and determined. And it’s the best one he’s ever given her.  
  
He pulls away, and her hands fall from where they’d crept to his waist. “Thanks for cheering me up,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I’ll miss you.” He pauses, then says, “Goodbye.”  
  
She wants to ask him why he said it, since saying goodbye makes him feel like he’s not coming back. But then she looks into his eyes and sees that now, it’s something different. It’s not a reminder that he might not return, it’s a promise that he will.  
  
“For now,” he adds, confirming Winry’s suspicions. This _is_ a promise, just like their equivalent exchange.  
  
“Come home soon,” she says, a new sparkle in her smile.  
  
“I will,” he says, and he gives her one last, brief kiss before he turns and steps completely onto the train. Winry follows his shadow as he moves down the car and settles into a seat.  
  
The train pulls out of the station not long after that, and Winry stays on the platform to watch it fade into the horizon. She feels so much lighter now than she had before, and she’s beginning to wonder if all her anxiety was simply that Ed would board the train without her ever knowing where they stood. Now that she has her promise, her shoulders feel like they’re carrying one less burden.  
  
An older woman waiting for a different train comes up behind her. “Oh, so I see Edward’s doing some traveling as well. Why can’t those boys just settle down for a while?”  
  
Winry thinks maybe the woman’s just trying to be sympathetic. Anyone who really knew Ed would know exactly why he could never do that. And why Winry would never let him. “It’s good for them to keep moving,” she tells her, eyes still on the train. She turns then, giving the woman a bright smile. “Men who just sit around doing nothing are boring.”  
  
The woman doesn’t know quite what to say to that, so Winry leaves her behind at the station and begins the short journey back home. There’s a skip in her step and a smile on her face as she walks, kicking pebbles every few feet. She thinks of the automail she’s been designing for old man Haversham down the road, and her smile gets wider.  
  
Alright, so maybe automail isn’t something she goes to only when she’s worried, or anxious. It’s almost like her default, the thing she can depend on when everything around her is changing, even when—especially when—things are changing for the better. Automail is her constant, the one thing she will always find waiting for her.  
  
Ed has alchemy, Winry has automail. That’s how it’s always been, and she has a feeling that’s how it’s always going to be.  
  
As her house comes into view, Winry catches sight of a familiar gray dress out in the yard, hanging up laundry. Granny’s going to be the first to hear about their promise.  
  
...And suddenly Winry knows why Ed held onto his proposal until the train station.


End file.
